


The Dress Song

by idharao



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idharao/pseuds/idharao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An audio post on Tumblr accompanies this. The Doctor gives Donna something utterly impractical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dress Song

_I'm making you a dress_  
 _That you can wear on top_  
 _Of all the other things that you have got_  
  
 _It's gonna be made of silk_  
 _It's gonna have lacy fringe_  
 _It's gonna have two pockets you can put your things in_  
  
 _But when you wear my dress_  
 _You've got to always step_  
 _In time with the one who's singing a song to you_  
  
 _The breath upon your skin_  
 _The tiny gust of wind_  
 _The one against the other keeps you pinned_  
  
 _In line with the one who's singing to you_  
 _In time with the one who's singing to you_  
 _He's sung this song before before_  
 _He's slipping through that closing door again_  
  
 _I guess I am a ghost_  
 _That's what my friends all say_  
 _I'm rigid as a post and I am grey_  
  
 _There isn't anything_  
 _To say or do or want_  
 _I'm just an empty box collecting time, collecting sun_  
  
 _But when you wear my dress_  
 _You've got to always step_  
 _In time with the one who's singing his song to you_  
  
    He keeps very few secrets from Donna, aside from the big ones, and so when he gets shifty and busy she gets suspicious. She isn't shy like Martha, or playfully persistent like Rose. She asks him straight out what he's up to and doesn't like to be told to mind her own business, even with a smile.  
    He honestly has no idea where this impulse came from, to give her something utterly impractical and feminine, Donna who trots about the universe with him in boots and jeans and an abundance of soft skin and hair that is more worthy of adornment than adventuring. He makes it a point to take her beautiful places and give her things that fascinate and amaze and amuse her. Every so often he fills her room with flowers, a quick order to the TARDIS who never failed to produce something spectacular. Donna among a sea of glow flowers (bioluminescent blossoms from the planet Melisande in the Andromeda Galaxy that glowed a vivid white-purple) is a sight for any male, Time Lord or otherwise.  
    He's making her a dress, a real dress, using the TARDIS's synthesizer. The TARDIS had done a good enough job when he took her to the twenties, taking into account Donna's color preferences, and, (he remembers Donna standing in her knickers and bra, inspecting the dress as it was produced) giving her a lovely outfit, complete with jewelry. But that hadn't been anything close to what she deserved. If he was not mistaken, women never really grew out of loving to play dress-up; it was just that as they aged the dress-up had a purpose. This one is for his Donna, who deserves some time in which has no purpose but her diversion, and so it is fanciful.  
    It's made of simple white silk, and edged with lace that would make a princess envious, all delicate silvery-white threads and intricate stitches. He adds two pockets and he knows that Donna will get the joke. The wedding dress seems to be inextricably linked to her in his mind. He tries not to acknowledge that thought.  
    It takes a little while until he's satisfied with it. The TARDIS has all of Donna's measurements stored (Donna's been expanding her wardrobe freely because the TARDIS can produce any kind of clothing) and works busily for a minute or two. Then there is a buzz and clang, and a heap of white fabric appears in the output chamber. He swings open the little hinged door and pulls out the dress, which falls into graceful airy folds in his arms. He can just imagine her wearing it.  
    Donna is utterly baffled when he presents her with the creation, looking at it a little sideways. "Is it a wedding dress?" she asks.  
    "No," he says. "It's a dress-up dress."  
    Donna grins at him, lighting up. "Are we going somewhere?"  
    "If you want, but I really made it for you to just throw on when you want," he says. Then he feels a little sheepish. "It's… for dressing up."  
    "For playing dress-up?" she asks. "Are we going to have a plastic tea set too?"  
    He grins at her, really blushing now. "No, I…" He trails off. "D'you hate it?" he asks.  
    "No, no!" Donna hastens to assure him. "No, of course not, it's beautiful, I just… I'm thirty four, Doctor."  
    "And you don't ever want to just swan around in a nice dress?" he asks her. "Hell, Donna, sometimes _I_ want to swan around in a nice dress."  
    Donna bursts out laughing. "You're mad," she says affectionately. He just smiles at her, that little smile that is very soft. Then she looks down at the dress and says, "I s'pose sometimes I do like to dance around a bit, I admit it. I just… I usually put on my iPod and faff about in the privacy of my own bedroom."  
    "Oh!" Ten claps his hands. "Good, I thought so. You Earth women, you love getting all kitted out and," he notes her face, "oh, but, Donna, it's so worth it when you do." He says that sincerely enough, and she gives him a wry look.  
    "I like your generalizations, Doctor," she says. "I can just throw this over my clothes?"  
    He nods. "Go for it."  
    So she disappears in a froth of white fabric and emerges, coppery hair flying, into a panoply of feminine ruffles. She looks like a confection. She looks gorgeous, with the sleeves of her shirt all wrinkled under the sleeves of the dress and the neckline popping out. She looks down at herself and then at him, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.  
    "Perfect," he says, laughing. "It's beautiful."  
    She sways from side to side and does a twirl, giggling. "You Spaceman," she says to him. "You're a genius." Then she discovers the pockets and looks up at him with a shining-eyed smile that he will never forget. She does get the joke.  
    She looks like a bride.  
  
* * * *  
  
    That's the memory of her that he carries with him for a long time, of Donna spinning around the console room with her hands making graceful curves and her red hair falling everywhere around her. The kiss she gave him with her arms around his neck and her waist encircled in his arms. The gentle settle of the fabric against the floor when she abandoned the dress and the rest of her clothes.  
    Neither of her wedding dresses would ever compare.


End file.
